


Left Behind

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Adara Birthday Celebration [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Comes Back, Derek Hale Leaves Beacon Hills, Don’t copy to another site, Getting Back Together, M/M, Mates, Misunderstandings, Stiles Stilinski Leaves Beacon Hills, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 10:37:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16973013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: “You have got to befuckingkidding me.”Stiles felt like every inch of him was on fire at the sound of that voice. His heart did something weird in his chest, his breathing hitched and he could feel himself melting slightly.He hadn’t heard that voice in over three years. He hadn’t... he’d forced himselfnotto think about that voice, or the person it belonged to. He’d tried so, so hard to just erase every part of him from his life, from memory, just... forget him entirely.It hadn’t worked. He’d known it wouldn’t, but he’d tried anyway.Slowly, still sitting on the ground on his ass, Stiles turned his head and looked across the room.Derek.Derek was on the other side of the room.





	Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adara/gifts).



> Happy Birthday [Adara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adara/pseuds/adara)!!!
> 
> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis

Stiles didn’t know what to do.

Realistically, he often didn’t, but he usually figured things out relatively quickly so that nobody died and things were okay. But that was life or death, for the most part. If it was life or death, he knew he’d figure it out.

This wasn’t life or death. Well, not really. Or just maybe? It was hard to tell. Possibly life or death with a sprinkling of giant personal problems woven in at the same time.

Thus, he didn’t know what to do.

It had been literal _years_  since he’d heard from Jackson Whittemore. After he’d left Beacon Hills, Stiles hadn’t really thought about him much. He remembered him, and occasionally he’d have a brief ADHD moment where Jackson would flit across his mind, but overall? No. Jackson was not someone he thought about.

The pack as a whole wasn’t really something he thought about anymore, either.

Stiles had tried to leave that life behind him. Things had happened, things he didn’t like thinking about, or remembering. Things he wished he could take back or forget about. He couldn’t, so the easiest thing to do was take a page out of the asshole’s book and run away.

Stiles had left Beacon Hills the second he could afford it, moving to San Francisco and then eventually Chicago. It was far from his dad, which he hated, but it was for the best, really.

And ironically, the life he’d tried so hard to leave behind had ended up finding him. Not the people, just the nature of it.

Stiles had been walking home one night and saw a group of men attacking a lone figure. He didn’t know _how_  he knew, but he _knew_  they were Hunters. Maybe it was the way they held themselves. Maybe it was the specific words they were using. Maybe it was the purple smoke wafting from one of their hands.

He hadn’t really stopped to think about it. He’d rushed in without a plan and had decked the closest person in the face. Stiles had not won that fight, being severely outnumbered, but he managed to get the wolfsbane away from the fallen wolf and the guy had managed to fight the rest of them off before grabbing Stiles and bolting with him.

The guy’s name was Connor Pease. He was younger than Stiles by a year, but a good kid. He’d brought him back to his pack–or more, Stiles had tagged along to make sure nothing else happened—and then he’d kind of just... never left.

He’d made friendly with their Emissary, and older woman named Meghan who reminded him of his mother. It was during that period he found out he had a proclivity for magic. Stiles had always suspected he could do things, considering the mountain ash barrier he’d created around Jungle all those years ago, but nothing had ever happened beyond that so he’d figured it was just weird luck.

Apparently not, because he was magic, and he spent almost two years training under Meghan. He wasn’t interested in being an Emissary, not really, but he could see the pack wanted him to stick around. Stiles felt bad about it, but he had no plans to make this a permanent thing. It felt like a betrayal to the pack he’d left behind, even though he was positive they wouldn’t care about him anymore.

He stayed with them, but always made it clear this wasn’t permanent. They didn’t seem to mind, they were just happy every day they woke up with him still there.

Stiles found out relatively quickly that the pack—comprised of Weres, Magic-users and some rogue Hunters—were some kind of Supernatural creature hunting team. They travelled a lot, made _really_  good money protecting people from Supernatural beings, and were incredibly famous in the Supernatural community. They tried not to kill, when possible, but weren’t as strict about it as Scott used to be. Sometimes, there was no way around putting someone down, and while Stiles didn’t like it any more than Scott ever had, at times it was necessary.

When they’d picked up and moved, Stiles had kind of just ended up going with them. He wasn’t part of their pack, but he was _something_  to them. And he had a good time and learned a _lot_  with them, so he was happy.

They’d just finished up a job in Paris, a Vampire nest that was being invaded by Pixies—shockingly brutal—when Stiles had received the email.

He didn’t talk to many people from the old pack. Scott every now and then, because it was Scott, but no one else, so he had no idea how Jackson had gotten his email, let alone known he was in Paris. He could only assume news travelled, given the pack he was with.

_Stilinski,_   
_You’re not my first choice, but the people you’re with are good and we need your help._   
_Don’t be a dick, you know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t absolutely have to._   
_Jackson._

That was how he found himself sitting up in bed at three in the morning, chewing on his thumbnail while re-reading the email over and over. He kept trying to figure out what this meant. Maybe Jackson was possessed? Maybe it wasn’t even Jackson and it was all a ruse to get his new friends somewhere for an ambush? Hell, maybe Jackson had gone all dark side and had to kill every member of his original pack to join some super secret elitist Werewolf society! Who knew? Not Stiles!

“You know the light’s keeping me up, right?”

Stiles started and dropped his phone, but it only landed on the bed in front of him. He turned to the neighbouring bed, where one hazel eye was open and staring at him sleepily.

“Sorry.” Stiles leaned over to shut off the lamp, but Connor just reached out to turn it back on.

He sighed and sat up, raking one hand through his hair and then scrubbing his face tiredly.

“Either you’ve lost the ability to read, or whatever you’re reading is causing massive anxiety.”

Stiles looked back down at his phone, the screen black, but he knew the message would still be there as soon as he tapped it back awake. Sometimes, hanging with Werewolves was annoying, though Stiles had learned some useful spells from Meghan to lock some things down body-signal-wise.

He stared at his phone for a long while, so long in fact that Connor climbed off his bed and came to sit beside him, resting his head on Stiles’ shoulder.

Stiles had suspected for a while that Connor liked him in a romantic sense. He wished he could like him back, be with someone else, maybe be _happy_ , but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t. Connor was a good friend, and unfortunately, he wouldn’t ever be anything more. He seemed to recognize that, he’d never once tried to talk to Stiles about it, but he did get into his space more often than the other wolves.

“Who is it?” Connor finally asked after a long silence.

“Someone from my old pack.” Stiles didn’t talk about them much, so Connor already knew just with that that this was a sensitive topic for him.

“What did they want?”

“Help.” Stiles winced, because it made his indecision seem heartless. “I’m just not sure I believe it. The guy who emailed me wasn’t—he and I didn’t get along. He was an asshole to me in high school. I’m not someone he would email.”

“Doesn’t that make it more likely he needs your help?” Connor reached across Stiles for his phone, unlocking it to read the message. Stiles should’ve been annoyed Connor knew his password _again_ , but he didn’t worry about it. Not like he had any secrets from the pack, anyway.

“He seems pretty adamant that he wouldn’t come to you unless he had to.” Connor dropped the phone back on the bed, cheek still resting against Stiles’ shoulder. “It’s your choice, Stiles. If you go, we’ll follow. If not, then we head off to our next job. But, you have to consider whether or not you’d regret ignoring his request.”

Stiles wished he could say he wouldn’t. He wished he could say fuck Jackson, he could deal with his own messes. But the truth was, if he were to wake up a week from now and find out Jackson was hurt, or worse, _dead_ , Stiles would be devastated. Sure, they hadn’t ever gotten along, but they’d still been pack once upon a time, and Stiles was meant to be helping people. He’d be a disappointment to his father if he let this go, even if it _was_  Jackson.

“You think Tasha will be okay if I go?” Stiles asked quietly.

“I think she’d be pissed if _you_  go, but fine if _we_  go.” Connor nudged him. “We’re in this together. Where is this guy?”

“London. Or, England, at any rate.” Stiles wasn’t sure, now that he thought about it, but he knew Jackson _had_  been in London so he supposed he could still be there.

“Well, find out and we’ll head there tomorrow. I think there’s a train from Paris to London, so should be easy to at least _get_  to England.” Connor nuzzled Stiles’ neck slightly, then climbed off the bed. “Let him know we’re coming.”

“I should talk to Tasha first.”

Connor gave him a look. “As if she wasn’t listening this whole time.”

Fucking Werewolves.

Stiles watched Connor climb back into bed, then stared back down at his phone. With a sigh, he picked it up and unlocked it. The message was still there.

He stared at it for a while longer before finally replying.

_Tell me where to meet you. We’ll be there tomorrow._   
_S_

* * *

Stiles really didn’t like this. This couldn’t be safe, not at all. This was some kind of ambush. Jackson had become one with true evil and they were all going to die. Nobody was listening to him, and while he was used to that, he was less concerned about it with this pack.

When no one back home used to listen to him, they _should have_. Here, when no one listened to him, things usually still went according to plan. That was only because Natasha Shah was a phenomenal Alpha. Sometimes, Stiles wished he could fully commit to joining the pack, but he really didn’t want to be tied down to another one. He’d had one already in his life, and that was enough. It was easier to be what he was now. Following along with them, but not _entirely_  one with them.

Still, even though Stiles trusted Tasha explicitly, this was really concerning. They’d been told to meet outside what looked to be a large, abandoned stone structure. Stiles wasn’t sure what it once was, but it was evidently old and dangerous-looking and this was so a trap, why had he brought them all here?

The others were all calm and chatting, unconcerned with their surroundings, but Stiles couldn’t stop fidgeting and kept tapping his fingers nervously against his thighs, looking around.

He jumped when Connor leaned into him, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and nuzzling against the side of his face. “Calm down. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“I’m calm,” Stiles insisted, even as he knew they were all well aware of the lie.

“Connor,” Tasha said sharply, and when Stiles glanced at her, she was scowling at the wolf leaning into him. “Remember what we spoke about.”

Connor let out a loud, annoyed sigh and rolled his eyes before pulling back. He stayed by Stiles’ side, but he didn’t touch him. Tasha often reprimanded Connor when he draped himself all over Stiles, which he didn’t understand, but didn’t dwell on. Connor was heavy, so it wasn’t like it bothered Stiles that he was asked not to crush the human.

“Stiles.”

He turned when he heard the voice, actually a little surprised. He knew Isaac was in Europe somewhere, having been backpacking around in an attempt to escape his past. He hadn’t realized he’d ended up in London, likely with Jackson and Ethan.

Stiles didn’t keep up with Jackson, but he _did_  keep in touch with Danny, and had been informed of Jackson’s new boyfriend. Stiles thought it was a bit of a dick move, given Ethan and Danny had been really serious once upon a time, but Danny had found himself a perfectly lovely _human_  gentleman and he seemed happy with his life, so Stiles tried not to judge Jackson too harshly.

Still, dick move. Bro code, and all. He hoped Jackson had asked Danny if it was okay before going for it with Ethan, but then again, it was Jackson, so probably not.

“Isaac,” Stiles said with a grin, jogging a few steps and holding his arms out. He hugged Isaac tightly, slapping his back a few times. “It’s good to see you, buddy. I didn’t know you were in London.”

Isaac’s hug was painful, Werewolf and all, but it felt good to see a familiar face after so long. Stiles would never admit he missed home, but he did. He really did. And he hadn’t seen Isaac since Junior year of high school. It was hard to keep in touch with someone who was trying to stay off the grid.

“Yeah, I flew in to help Jackson out,” Isaac said, pulling away and giving him a once-over. “You look good, Stiles. Really good.”

“You too, man.” Stiles slapped his arm, smiling brightly. He could feel the tenseness behind him from the pack, but knew it was because they didn’t like unknown wolves near any of their humans.

They were territorial that way.

At least they hadn’t attacked or started being dicks. He suspected Tasha was behind that, because she was super calm and chill. Really, the best Alpha he’d ever met.

“You know what this is all about?” Stiles motioned the abandoned building.

“I do, actually.” He smiled a little, then looked past Stiles. “I was wondering if I could speak to your Alpha.”

Stiles didn’t think it would be appropriate to correct Isaac, but he also didn’t want to lie. He wasn’t in the pack, Tasha wasn’t _technically_ his Alpha. Thankfully, she spoke before he had to say anything, and very politely confirmed her status as _an_ Alpha, but not _Stiles’_. He appreciated that.

“I am the Alpha of the pack,” Tasha said, moving up beside Stiles and touching his shoulder lightly.

“I know this is unusual,” Isaac said cautiously, eying the pack behind her, “and you can bring your second if you like, but I was hoping I could speak to you inside.” Isaac motioned the building.

Stiles felt the energy shift, but Tasha just looked pensive, head tilted slightly before nodding.

“Very well. Elias, stay with the others. Meghan, perimeter.”

They both murmured acknowledgement and Isaac led the way towards the side of the building. When they were a few feet away, Meghan murmured a soft spell and the air around Stiles glowed slightly, a small bubble falling down around them.

Tasha didn’t like leaving her pack alone, especially when she didn’t know what she was walking into.

Stiles turned to head back to Connor, closer to the rest of the pack so Meghan didn’t have to strain so much for the perimeter bubble. He bumped shoulders with Connor when he neared him, and they all stood in silence, anxious and concerned.

Tasha wasn’t gone for long. She came back less than ten minutes later with Isaac. Jackson and Ethan were in tow, and while neither of them looked thrilled to see him, they didn’t look unhappy, either. Jackson actually almost smiled, like he’d missed him.

That was a weird thought.

“I’ve been briefed on the situation,” Tasha informed the pack. “Unfortunately, this is going to be extremely difficult to pull off.” She looked at Stiles. “You’re going to have to go in first.”

“What?” Meghan asked, a note of hurt in her tone. “Stiles? But he’s only just finished with his training, it’s not—”

“Meghan,” Tasha said, a hint of reprimand in her tone, and Meghan stopped speaking instantly.

Stiles didn’t really understand, either. He was good, sure, but Meghan was _way_  better. And more experienced. She was like, fifty-four or something, she had so many more years on Stiles, this was a terrible plan!

The only reason he didn’t argue was because Tasha had never led him astray before.

“I’ll take Stiles inside first,” Tasha told the pack. “The rest of you wait here. I’ll be back.”

None of them were comfortable with this, least of all Stiles, but when she turned and began to walk back to the building, Stiles obediently followed her. Isaac stayed behind, but Jackson and Ethan followed along with them.

“Thanks for coming, Stilinski,” Jackson said, voice low, like he didn’t want to _have_  to thank him.

“Sure,” Stiles said, glancing at him over his shoulder. “It’s been a while. How you doing?”

“Fine.”

Stiles just nodded uncomfortably, then faced forward again, following Tasha through a door. He didn’t know if he had to be quiet or not so he opted not to speak when they entered the building. It was a little cold, what with all the stone, and very dark. It smelled damp, and kind of like magic, which had the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

He recognized what magic felt like now, and while it was almost familiar for some reason, he didn’t like it. He stopped, reaching out to touch Tasha’s shoulder.

“We shouldn’t go any further, there’s strong magic here.”

“I know, don’t worry. It’s just a little further.” Tasha offered him a reassuring smile and led the way towards some stairs.

Stiles hesitated, really unsure. He knew that it would be impossible for the pack to hear them if something happened. The stone walls were thick, and the magic was strong. It was like it was blocking everything out and he really, _really_  didn’t know about this.

But, he followed Tasha anyway, the two of them descending the stairs and walking down a corridor that was barely lit enough for him to see anything. They reached a door at the end, and Tasha moved to stand beside it, clasping her hands together.

“Mountain ash,” she explained. “After you.”

Oh, that was why she needed Stiles. He was actually better than Meghan when it came to spells with mountain ash.

He walked over to the door and found it was easy to open, so not sealed shut with a spell. He’d just shifted to glance into the room, which was just a _smidge_  brighter than the corridor, when he felt two hands on his back and he let out a shout, falling into the room and landing hard.

His elbow scraped along the floor and he tasted blood in his mouth. He whipped around on the ground, watching the door shut, and was about to scream for help he knew couldn’t hear him when a voice spoke from behind him and he froze.

“You have got to be _fucking_  kidding me.”

Stiles felt like every inch of him was on fire at the sound of that voice. His heart did something weird in his chest, his breathing hitched and he could feel himself melting slightly.

He hadn’t heard that voice in over three years. He hadn’t... he’d forced himself _not_  to think about that voice, or the person it belonged to. He’d tried so, so hard to just erase every part of him from his life, from memory, just... forget him entirely.

It hadn’t worked. He’d known it wouldn’t, but he’d tried anyway.

Slowly, still sitting on the ground on his ass, Stiles turned his head and looked across the room.

Derek.

Derek was on the other side of the room.

Trapped between a stone wall and a line of mountain ash.

Stiles didn’t know how long he’d been there, but a while, at least. There were some takeout bags on the ground and four bottles of water, suggesting he’d been there a few hours. Maybe longer, Stiles didn’t know.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked slowly. It wasn’t what he _wanted_  to ask, but he was trying to detach himself from this situation, because seeing Derek _hurt_.

Being this close to him fucking _hurt_ and he _didn’t want it_! So he was trying to keep his distance emotionally. This was all a misunderstanding, he was sure. Stiles would get out of here, and it would be like he hadn’t seen Derek at all.

Hell, maybe he’d opened the door and been shot and this was a before-death hallucination or something.

“I came to help Isaac with a ghost problem,” Derek said dryly. “He led me down here, and then Deaton came out of nowhere and—” Derek motioned the line of mountain ash on the ground angrily. “Let me out.”

Stiles stared at him for a few seconds, then inhaled slowly before he faced the door again, getting to his feet, back to Derek. He wandered over to the door, inspecting it and running his hands along the wood. It was truly mountain ash, which meant Deaton was still there and had been the one to shut the door.

He sensed magic, too. Strong magic. And even as he stood there, he could feel the familiar tickle of Meghan’s magic reinforcing whatever spell was already cast on the wooden surface. He couldn’t break through it with magic on his own, and Derek wouldn’t be able to touch it because of what it was made of.

Great. Just great. What the fuck was going on right now?

“Well?” Derek snapped from behind him, but Stiles didn’t turn. “Are you gonna let me out, or what?”

“What,” Stiles said.

“What?” Derek repeated angrily.

Stiles turned to him, keeping his features schooled. “You said, ‘or what.’ I’m opting for the ‘what.’ I don’t owe you anything.”

Derek looked livid, eyes flashing blue and fangs beginning to peek through his lips. Stiles turned away from him again, because he didn’t want to look at him. He looked good. Derek looked so fucking good.

He still had his beard, and his hair was a little shorter. He looked like he’d gained some muscle and, if possible, a few inches, as well. He was wearing a pair of tight black jeans, a black shirt and his usual leather jacket. Stiles was kind of amazed the damn thing hadn’t disintegrated by now.

It was hard, having noticed the changes, because now all Stiles could think about was how it had felt to drag his nails through Derek’s beard, how soft the strands of hair between his fingers had been, the hard feel of his muscles beneath Stiles’ palms.

One small look and the floodgates had opened again. All the hurt and betrayal and abandonment hitting him full force. He was sure Derek could smell it, but he didn’t care. He hated him.

Stiles fucking _hated_  Derek Hale.

But he hated himself more for how much he _didn’t_  hate him at all.

“Stiles,” Derek snarled from behind him. “Let me out of this corner _right now_ , or—”

“Or what?” Stiles demanded, not turning to him and continuing to inspect the door. “You’ll rip my throat out with your teeth? You’ll tear off a limb and beat me to death with it? I’ve heard all these threats before, they’re not new. They’re kind of boring now.”

“What are you even doing here?” Derek demanded angrily. “Did Isaac call you?”

“No, Jackson emailed me.” Stiles crouched by the edge of the door, light peeking through, and wondered if he’d found a weakness in the spell.

“And you didn’t find that suspicious?”

“Of course I found it suspicious,” Stiles snapped, ensuring he kept his eyes facing forward. If he didn’t see him, and he didn’t acknowledge who he was, he could just pretend it was nobody. Stiles didn’t want to think about him, he wouldn’t even say his fucking _name_ , if he could stop himself. “But the fact that he _was_  emailing me meant it was big.”

“And you didn’t think to check?” Derek demanded angrily, as if this whole thing was _his_  fault.

“You’re the idiot who got himself trapped behind a mountain ash barrier,” he snapped over his shoulder, being sure not to actually look at him. “What, your nose broken or something? Didn’t smell Deaton was here? Didn’t think it was odd?”

“Of course I thought it was odd! But how was I supposed to know he was going to trap me in here?”

“Oh, so it’s okay for _you_  to be caught off-guard, but not me?” Stiles demanded, voice rising. “Is that it? I’m not allowed to make mistakes? If Jackson emails me, I’m supposed to _know_  it’s all a weird trick and not show up where my presence is an inconvenience to your existence?”

“Kind of!”

Stiles couldn’t help it this time. He turned to stare incredulously at Derek, still crouched by the edge of the door. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“You should’ve known better than to come here alone,” Derek insisted angrily, crossing his arms and glaring at him. His features had returned to normal, but he still looked ten different kinds of pissed.

Which only pissed _Stiles_  off, because what the actual _fuck_?!

“I didn’t come alone!” Stiles shouted, getting to his feet and storming across the room. He didn’t go right up to the mountain ash line, but just about. “I came with my—”

He tried so hard to say ‘my pack,’ but the words stuck in his throat. They weren’t his pack. They’d never been his pack. He couldn’t get the words out, because they weren’t true, and even if he wanted to hurt Derek for being such a fucking asshole, he couldn’t say it. Because it wouldn’t hurt just Derek, it would hurt a lot of other people, too.

And he didn’t know if they could hear him.

“My companions,” Stiles managed to get out.

“Your companions,” Derek sneered. “Looks like that worked out real well for you.”

“It’s the Shah pack,” Stiles bit out, because he had to hit Derek at least _somewhere_  that would hurt.

It had the desired effect. He looked startled, and then hurt, and then angry again. It happened so fast that, had Stiles not known him so well, he wouldn’t have caught the different emotions flitting across his face.

“You’re with _them_?” he asked coldly.

“Yeah. I am,” Stiles said defiantly.

“How’d you manage that? You sleeping with one of them?”

And now Derek was trying to hit _him_  where it hurt.

“No.”

“You reek of wolf,” Derek sneered. “Don’t bother lying, I can smell him all over you.”

“Your nose _and_  your ears broken?” Stiles snapped, taking a step forward and leaning a bit closer, enunciating each word slowly when he spoke next. “I am not sleeping with anyone.”

Derek’s eyes shifted down to his chest, likely listening to his heart, but he didn’t apologize and just looked back up into Stiles’ face, still scowling.

“The Shah pack doesn’t take in strays,” he said coldly. “And they certainly wouldn’t take in someone who won’t join them.”

“Well, I’d ask them to come in here and prove it, but Meghan’s spell on the door suggests they’re not planning on coming in here any time soon,” he said dryly. “What’s the matter? If you can’t have it, nobody can?”

Derek _almost_  flinched at that.

Stiles knew that, once upon a time, Derek and Laura had tried to make friendly with the Shah pack. They’d tried to get an in back before Derek had returned to Beacon Hills, but the pack had turned them away. Laura was too reckless and rebellious, and Derek was too toxic and angry. They weren’t a good fit, so the pack hadn’t taken them in.

He remembered the story the day he’d met Tasha, but he doubted she remembered Derek. It had been years ago, and she probably had people trying to join her pack all the time. Derek himself had only mentioned it once in passing when Stiles had asked him about his life in New York. The pack was big, and they protected their own, _and_  had money. They were definitely the most well-known pack in the country, but Stiles hadn’t even _known_  that until _after_  he’d started tagging along with them.

“I can’t believe you left Scott like that,” Derek said, switching tracks without hesitation. “He needed you. And you left him.”

“Scott _knows_  why I left,” Stiles snapped. “I wasn’t any good to him anymore. And he doesn’t need me.”

“Are you insane?” Derek demanded. “Yes he does! He’s a mess without you! The pack’s barely holding together back there. Lydia’s the only reason none of them are _dead_.”

“Oh, and that’s _my_  fault.” Stiles laughed mirthlessly. “Right, of course. Everything is my fault because I left. The pack is in shambles and it’s all my fault.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yes you fucking did!” Stiles shouted in his face. “You are _blaming_ me for the pack falling apart. Because I _left_! So, what, this is another one of those things that _you_ can do and _I_ can’t? You’re allowed to leave, forget the life you had, pretend you never returned to Beacon Hills, that’s all okay for you, but if _I_ want to leave, suddenly it’s not allowed? You can leave and I can’t?”

“I didn’t leave!” Derek practically roared.

Stiles was used to it, so it didn’t even affect him. “Yes you fucking did!”

“I came _back_ , Stiles!”

He’d had the perfect retort. Stiles had his comeback _perfectly_  planned, because he was positive he knew what Derek was about to say. He was positive he was going to argue that he didn’t have any reason to stay, so now Stiles’ comeback didn’t work and he ended up just standing there staring at Derek.

He was breathing hard on the other side of the mountain ash barrier, hands clenched into fists and irises tinged with blue. He was staring at Stiles like he wanted to rip his head right off his shoulders, which only further reinforced Stiles’ decision _not_  to let him out of that corner.

“What?” he finally managed to say, tone coming out half-angry, half-shocked.

“I came  _back_ ,” Derek repeated through gritted teeth, hands clenched so tightly Stiles could see drops of blood dripping from his knuckles, spattering on the stone floor. “I didn’t leave because I _wanted_  to, I left because I had no choice.”

“You had no choice,” Stiles said, tone clearly displaying his disbelief. “What, someone had a gun to your head?”

“No, they had one to your father’s.”

Stiles stared at him, feeling his stomach bottom out. “They what?”

Derek looked pissed he’d even brought it up, turning his head away and shaking it slightly, like he wasn’t going to continue at first, but he inhaled deeply and glanced back at Stiles, tone still laced with anger.

“A group of Hunters came into town. They thought I was the Alpha, and I didn’t correct them. I figured it was better to keep Scott out of the picture as long as possible. They followed me for a while before I realized what they were, and because I always went to your place, they thought your dad was my Emissary. When they came at me, I told them he wasn’t, and my insistence made them convinced he was. They wanted to cripple my pack, they had plans to go after your dad. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Stiles couldn’t stop staring at him, mind completely blank. What? _What_?!

“I had to do something. Had to get them out of town. So I attacked one of them, injured him enough that he could’ve died, but didn’t. I was very careful about it, because a death would mean they would respond in kind, and I wanted to piss them off, not start a war in our territory. I led them out of town. They chased me for two states before I managed to gain the upper hand. Made friendly with a pack in Arizona, and I was finally safe. I helped them for a few days to make sure nothing incriminating would come back to them, then headed home.” His jaw clenched briefly before he continued. “When I got back, Scott said you’d left. Packed up and moved away, and had basically cut ties with everyone except your dad.”

Stiles had absolutely _no_  idea what to say. Derek had come back. What? Fucking _what_?!

“You didn’t answer any of my calls,” he blurted out, because his mind was blank and that was all he could think to say. “I texted and called for _weeks_! You never answered any of them!”

“I was kind of running for my life,” Derek said dryly. “And I didn’t want you to do anything stupid, like come after me. By the time I was safe, I tried to call you, but your phone was disconnected. When I got back, I found out it was because you’d left.” Derek leaned forward, one hand pressed against the invisible barrier keeping him trapped in the corner. He bared his fangs at Stiles. “I’m not the one who _left_ , Stiles. _You_  are.”

He was right.

Derek was right.

Stiles _had_  left. If Derek honestly _had_  gone away for a brief stint to protect his dad, and then come back, then it really _was_  Stiles who’d run away, and not Derek.

“Scott never told me you came back,” Stiles insisted, as if trying to find the lie in his story. “He would’ve said something!”

“Scott can’t even pay attention to his own work schedule, you really think he’s going to remember to tell you I came back to town a few weeks after you’d left?” he asked dryly.

Fair point. Shit.

“Dad would’ve said something!”

“You ran away from Beacon Hills, does your dad honestly keep you apprised of anything?”

Actually, that was true. He didn’t. Not one thing at all that didn’t pertain specifically to the sheriff himself. Nothing about Scott. Nothing about Melissa. Nothing about _anyone_.

Least of all Derek, considering his dad knew how he’d felt about him.

How he _still_  felt about him.

“You abandoned me without a word,” Stiles blurted out, because he had to say _something_! “We almost _died_ , we made out, we _fucked_ , and then you _left_! How was I—why would I think you would ever come back?!”

“Because it was _you_ , Stiles!” Derek shouted. Stiles’ head snapped back, and even Derek looked startled at his own words, hand sliding down the invisible barrier before falling to his side once more. “It was you,” he said again, quietly. “I always come back for you. Every time, no matter what, if it’s you, I always come back. So how come you didn’t do the same thing for me?”

Stiles felt like Derek had just reached into his chest, grabbing his heart and squeezing it. It hurt so bad he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“You left me,” Stiles insisted, the words coming out sounding pathetic.

“You _thought_  I left you,” Derek said quietly. “So you left me instead.”

They stood staring at one another for a long while. Derek seemed done with what he had to say, but Stiles’ mind was a confused, jumbled mess. All this time, all these years, Derek had been back in Beacon Hills. Derek was _home_ , and Stiles was...

Stiles had run away. Stiles was the one who’d abandoned Derek, not the other way around.

“I didn’t...” He had no idea what to say. “I didn’t know. I wasn’t... I thought...”

“You were wrong,” Derek said softly. “I would always come back for you, Stiles. If there is anyone who can count on me not abandoning them, it’s you. It’s always been you.”

Stiles surged forward, crossing the barrier, and grabbed Derek’s face. When he kissed him, it was like someone had enveloped him in a warm blanket. Like a bucket of sunshine had been dumped over his head, and everything was just... what it was supposed to be. Perfection. Bliss. _Right_.

Derek’s hands were under his shirt, nails raking across his back. His tongue was in his mouth, wet and demanding even as Derek pulled him closer, tried desperately to get them as close as possible.

Stiles was speaking whenever they broke apart for the barest of moments.

“I never stopped loving you. I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. God, Derek, I fucking love you so much.”

Derek didn’t reciprocate the words, but he’d never been much of a talker. He was more a man of action, and the desperate hold and wandering hands and insistent tongue were more than enough for Stiles to know he felt the same way.

Stiles wanted to kick himself. All these years, all this _time_. He’d lost so much time with Derek. He’d left so much behind when he’d tried to run away from the pain. He’d sacrificed everything to escape the feelings he’d thought weren’t reciprocated.

He almost couldn’t handle the fact that the person keeping them apart was _him_. God, he was such a fucking _idiot_!

Derek’s mouth had left his and was trailing down along his neck, biting hard at the juncture where it met with his shoulder. His hands were sliding up further, and Stiles had just released his face to raise his arms so he could slide his shirt off when the door behind them opened and they both jumped, Stiles whipping his head around.

“Fucking finally,” Jackson muttered, looking over Deaton’s shoulder into the room. “Now McCall can shut the hell up. I was seriously debating flying home to muzzle him.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Deaton said with his usual mysterious air. “Hello Stiles. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Wait, did Scott plan this?” Stiles demanded. Derek still had his hands halfway up his back under his shirt, and Stiles was still holding his face, but neither of them really noticed.

“The pack was suffering without its glue,” Deaton said with a small smile. “And Scott’s strongest ally was beginning to isolate himself. He and your father always thought you would return home after a time, and you and Derek could resolve your differences. Neither wanted to push, but when months turned into years, there were concerns you might decide never to return home. Scott didn’t want to lose you to another pack, and he very nearly did.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all happy Stilinski’s still got a giant boner for Hale,” Jackson said, rolling his eyes. “I did my part, and I’ve got a date. I’m leaving.” He looked over at the other two. “Get out of my city. I don’t want your bad luck infecting my home.”

Jackson turned and disappeared down the corridor. Tasha had been hanging back, hidden behind Jackson, but she smiled sadly now that she was visible and moved forward. Deaton politely stood aside, and she walked into the room, eying Derek with a mixture of interest and scrutiny, like she wasn’t sure he was good enough for Stiles.

“I remember you,” she said. “Derek Hale. So full of anger, and using it to keep the wolf at bay. For a time, at least.” Her eyes lowered slightly, and Stiles realized she was staring at his hands, still beneath Stiles’ shirt.

Stiles hastily took a step away from him, clearing his throat and kicking at the mountain ash on the ground so the barrier was broken.

“So, this is him, then.” Tasha let out a soft sigh, reaching out one hand and pressing it to Stiles’ cheek. He saw Derek shift out of the corner of his eye, likely unhappy about the scenting, but while he wasn’t in her pack, he still kind of belonged to her. “I knew from the moment you arrived that you were mated, but I didn’t realize it was with him.”

“What?” Stiles asked, positive he’d misheard. Derek tensed beside him.

“Connor is so very smitten with you,” she said softly. “But you already belonged to another. It wouldn’t be fair. Not to Connor, not to you, and not to your mate.” Her eyes shifted to Derek. “Not to Derek.”

“Wait, I’m _what_?” Stiles demanded, turning to Derek.

He shrugged one shoulder, shifting his weight awkwardly. “Wolf thing. Usually doesn’t happen with humans, but I guess... you’re not entirely human, are you?”

“You remember our discussions about mates, yes?” Tasha asked, thumb brushing lightly against his cheek. “The wolf chooses the mate, but it’s the mate who seals the bond. You two have been mated long before you were even intimate.” She turned to smile at Derek. “And he is your anchor as well, isn’t he?”

Stiles whipped back around to look at Derek. Fucking _what_?!

“Yeah,” he admitted softly.

“How long?”

“Since I was twenty.”

Twenty?! Stiles had been seventeen when Derek was twenty! He’d still been in _high school_! He and Derek were just becoming _friends_  back then!

Tasha hummed softly, then finally lowered her hand from Stiles’ face. She leaned forward to kiss his forehead, smiling at him comfortingly. “You and Derek have a lot to catch up on. Perhaps you should stay with him tonight. The pack will return to the hotel and we can reconvene tomorrow to coordinate the trip to Beacon Hills.”

Stiles’ stomach bottomed out because he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to be with the Shah pack, but... his dad. His friends. Everyone he’d left behind.

Derek.

“We’ll speak in the morning,” Tasha said, evidently sensing his distress. “There’s no reason for you to think you do not have a place with us. But your father needs you. Your pack, your _true_  pack, is waiting for you. And your mate,” she glanced at Derek and smiled, “I believe he has been patient long enough.”

She turned to exit the room, inclining her head to Deaton politely before disappearing. The Druid himself looked pleased as punch, and informed them he was also heading out and that Derek’s car was still parked in the lot from earlier that morning.

Then they were alone again.

Stiles turned to Derek and punched him, hard. It mostly hurt his hand, but Derek at least winced, though likely more because of what the punch implied than actual pain.

“Mate? Really?! How could you not tell me?!”

“I didn’t want to freak you out,” Derek muttered.

“Oh man,” Stiles groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “Wow, okay, we need to talk. Clearly.” He reached out to grab Derek by the shirt so he could drag him out of the room, but Derek closed his hand around his wrist and pulled him back gently, bringing his free hand up to cup his face and kissing him once more, lingering and soft.

“I never stopped loving you, either,” Derek said against his lips. “I thought about you every day, and I’m still pissed you left me behind.”

“Never again,” Stiles promised, wrapping his arms around his neck and sliding his hands into his hair. “I am never leaving you behind again.”

“Good.” Derek kissed him again. “Let’s get out of here before that bad luck Jackson talked about rears its ugly head.”

“Yeah.” Stiles pressed his lips to Derek’s.

They didn’t end up leaving for another hour, content to just hold one another and kiss softly, reacquainting themselves with one another.

So maybe Stiles had fucked up this time, but at least he had years and years ahead of him with Derek at his side to wait for Derek to fuck up.

And when he did, oh was Stiles going to rub it in.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Come chill with me on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/).  
> (If it still exists by the time you read this lol)


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